The next time you hear someone whining and complaining about The Elf on the Shelf being such a snitch, tell them they’re lucky they don’t live in Austria, where children, and even adults, have to contend with Krampus, the half demon/half goat monster who frightens the bejeezus out of the local population every December like clockwork.
And it’s not just one Krampus the locals have to deal with, these mischievous yuletide beasties travel in packs, if not in large hordes, as has been the case in the sleepy little mountain hamlet of St. Anton am Arlberg, Austria for hundreds of years.
Yannick Rumler, a 29-year-old native of St. Anton, spends one day a year behind a Krampus mask, and it’s something he very excitedly looks forward to for the next 364 days once it’s over.
“I was terrified of Krampus as a young child,” Rumler tells me over a cup of coffee, the night before Krampus Day which is celebrated all over Austria and Germany every December 5th, on the eve of the feast of St. Nicholas (aka Santa Claus) which is on December 6th.
“It was like Judgement Day, and leading up to it, all year long, you just thought about everything you did wrong like not cleaning your room, or being mean to your little sister, or something else your parents weren’t very thrilled about. Traditionally in St. Anton, St. Nicholas and Krampus, visit your home during the afternoon on December 5th. If the children are very young, it’s usually just St. Nicholas, because we don’t want them to have Krampus nightmares,” Rumler tells me with a big laugh.
“And what we didn’t know as kids was that our parents would pass St. Nick a report card of sorts, outlining our naughty and nice highlights throughout the year. If the good stuff outweighed the ‘bad’ stuff, you’d get a bunch of small gifts, like a little toy car, and some chocolate, nuts and oranges. Alternatively, if mom and dad handed Santa a ‘report’ with failing grades, the visit would be light on gifts, and you’d very likely have a very stern talking to from Krampus, and maybe even a friendly little swat with his broom,” Rumler says with another chuckle.
For Rumler, and many other Austrians, the fascination and celebration of Krampus is a source of cultural pride that goes back hundreds of years.
“We really love the whole Krampus thing here in the Arlberg. Our tradition in St. Anton is more than just Krampus visiting your house. Once that’s over, later in the afternoon, we have something we call ‘tratzen’ where local children try to play tricks on the Krampus’ roaming through town, and in return get chased – and if they’re not fast enough, they might get a little swat with a broom, but never anything too hard, it’s all very playful. Then in the evening we have a big parade through town, with about 120 Krampus’ in costume from five different groups in our area. After the parade, there is a special stage show, and it’s like a rock concert. There is music, food, drinks, and about 2,000 people gather in the town square to celebrate, it’s really something very special during the Christmas season and we’re extremely proud of it,” Rumler says.
Krampus tradition goes back hundreds of years in this part of the Austrian Alps, and according to Rumler, who’s been studying the history of Austrian Santa’s devilish sidekick since he was a young boy, the primary objective of having demonic goat men raise hell in early December was to drive away malign spirits from a mountain region where life could be very harsh during the dark days of winter.
“Life in the mountains, especially before the industrial age, was very tough,” Rumler explains.
“The Krampus ritual, which is most probably pagan in origin and connected to mid-December’s winter solstice, was a way for people to communicate with and make sense of the unknown, during a time when things could not yet be scientifically explained. It was a way to hopefully get rid of evil spirits which they thought were the cause of natural disasters, bad weather, poor crops, sickness, and even death,” Rumler adds.
St. Anton’s specific type of Krampus-lore is also connected to local witch-lore. For example, according to local legend, once upon a time, a witch from the nearby Verwall Valley made off with a local boy, and made him disappear by pounding him into a stone. The alleged scene of the crime is still a popular tourist attraction, with visitors making the pilgrimage to see the stone in question with the alleged markings of the lost boy on it. So it should not come as a surprise to anyone, that in this part of the Arlberg, witches and Krampus go hand in hand – especially when it’s time to dress up and run wild around town like banshees and demons every December 5th – on a day that could easily be described as a Halloween and Christmas hybrid.
But what is popular and acceptable as a leisure activity today, was not always the case. The Krampus cosplay of today would have been a very bad idea a few centuries back – and that’s not only because the masks and costumes can set you back $3000-$4,000! Just as you could be burned at the stake for allegedly being a witch during the Middle Ages, this was also the case for anyone who dressed up as Krampus back in the day.
“Up until a few hundred years ago, if you dressed up as Krampus they would execute you, as the Catholic Church frowned upon it, and it was strictly outlawed as a pagan ritual that was regarded as blasphemy. But things changed a few hundred years ago when the church put its own stamp on it by pairing Krampus up with St. Nicholas, and gave the tradition its blessing. So you’ll always see St. Nicholas, and a group of angels at the head of the evening parade, and even earlier during the day during the Krampus Tratzen, or Krampuslauf, which means ‘Krampus-run’ when they head into town,” Rumler says.
After a few more doppio espressos, and some delicious pistachio and apple cake from the kitchen of the Hotel Alte Post St. Anton where I stayed during my Krampusnacht visit (yes that’s a shameless plug for an absolutely amazing 4* Superior hotel with an unbelievable in-house fine dining restaurant) I went back to my room and received a phone call from an Austrian friend from Columbus, Ohio who knew I was in St. Anton to cover the Krampus festivities for SNOW Magazine.
“Michael, be very careful during the Krampus parade, some of the participants can be more, how should I say it, ‘enthusiastic’ than others when distributing punishment to onlookers,” Dr. Mara Sheehan (nee Kleinsasser) told me with a giggle, before confessing her memories of Krampus-time where she grew up near Vienna during the ‘80s were bittersweet.
“When I was little I was so scared of Krampus. Then when I was in elementary school and middle school, the tradition near Vienna where I grew up, was to send anonymous ‘Krampus cards’ which were kind of like Valentine’s cards, in that you would send one to the person you had a crush on. The funny thing is, a couple of years ago, I was going through some old stuff, and I found an old Krampus card, and I still don’t know who sent it! I don’t think people do this anymore, but it’s a really neat tradition,” Sheehan told me before warning me once again to be wary of overly zealous Krampus cosplayers.
When the big day finally arrived, on the advice of Herr Rumler, I did a little schussing in St. Anton, after all, how could you not hit the slopes when you’re in the cradle of modern skiing? The morning was pure heaven. Perfect snow, endless blue skies, and incredible sunshine.
After a few hours of skiing, I made my way to the Hotel Alte Post’s fabulous sauna. Rejuvenated and ready to witness the iminent Krampus’ invasion, I met Yannick near St. Anton’s church square, and before long, watched a procession of local Krampus’ (they’re actually called “Krampalar” in St. Anton) gallop into town led by St. Nicholas and a witch.
After a couple of hours shadowing the local Krampus crew as they disrupted traffic, chased skiers, and put the fear of St. Nick into the town’s children, I could tell a storm was coming. As darkness fell, the town was buzzing with energy, and around 7 p.m. the Krampus parade began.
Before long, the morning I spent in heaven on skis was a distant memory as the gates of the underworld burst open, and all hell literally broke loose. The iconic ski town I’ve loved for decades suddenly transformed into a carnival of the grotesque with huge, horned, furry beasts stomping through town, to a deafening soundtrack of loud bells, which were strapped to their bodies.
The spookiest Krampus’ looked like the gigantic White Walkers – you know, the ones with those terrifying blue glowing eyes from the Game of Thrones television series – as they marched down the street in all their demonic glory and regalia. Some of them walked, some of them crawled, some of them fought, some of them even slithered as people cheered and screamed at the same time. Two of the Krampus groups drove into town on vintage, super-charged farm tractors done up like they came straight out of hell. The tractors were puking fire and pulling carts loaded with Krampus’ that looked so nasty they made some of the others look like boy scouts.
At least two of the dozen or so broom “whacks” I received on the legs were what I would consider “punch-worthy” if they were delivered in a non-Krampus-parade type environment. But it was all in good fun, and truth be told, I’ve been a bit naughty this year, so I’m sure I deserved whatever Krampus punishment was justly doled out to me.
Once the parade was over, the focus of the crowd turned to a large stage in the center of town, where heavy metal “musical numbers” involving Krampus’ and witches battling it out for supremacy was taking place. What I witnessed in the crowd wasn’t terror and fear, it was unbridled excitement, and euphoric, rapturous, ecstatic delight!
Some of the wildest and most jubilant audience members were no more than 7 or 8-years old, and they were screaming and cheering like they were at a Taylor Swift concert, rocking metal barriers at the front of the stage so violently that security guards kept giving the little tykes warnings to stop the mayhem.
The star of the evening was wearing a wooden mask (almost all Krampus masks are carved out of wood) created by a very talented Austrian artist named Miguel Walch. The mask in question was a terrifyingly realistic depiction of a demonic wolf, a character not seen in St. Anton’s Krampus celebrations for the last 20 years. Worn by Markus Chodakowsky, the former chairman of the Arlberg Pass Krampalar (St. Anton’s local Krampus brigade) and the current vice chairman, it was more than clear that the return of the town’s prodigal wolf man was a big hit with locals, especially the littlest ones!
Chodakowsky, a very tall gentleman who could easily start as a center in the NBA, was mobbed by kids and adults alike after the show, with people jostling and begging him for selfies. It was more than clear that locals were impressed that his character was the secret weapon that turned the tide of the epic on-stage battle that ultimately gave the local witches a decisive victory over the Krampus army.
If you’re a lover of Christmas, Halloween, Mardi Gras, and you think Burning Man is cool, but a little too intense for you, do yourself a favor and put this amazing, traditional Austrian event on your calendar and bucket list. You can experience Krampusnacht all over Austria, and in many parts of Germany during the advent period before Christmas. There are even gatherings where hundreds, if not thousands of Krampus assemble, but seeing them in a place like St. Anton, in a more intimate setting is truly special, and a little scary – but it’s good scary, not bad scary!
